The Christmas Drabble
by JD11
Summary: 12th in 'Incompatible' series. “Mummy! Look!” Her body doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry: a tiny version of her Doctor, standing with his goofy grin and messy hair, his brand new screwdriver held in his right hand.
1. The Christmas Before And After

_Author's Note: _Okay, so these aren't actually drabbles, but that was the original idea and the title's grown on me. Didn't think you guys would mind. Enjoy!

_Timeline: _Starts just before "Army of Ghosts", the rest spans seven years post- "Doomsday". Twelfth in the 'Incompatible' series.

_Summary_: "Mummy! Look!" Her body doesn't know whether to laugh or cry: a tiny version of her Doctor, standing with his goofy grin and messy hair, his brand new screwdriver held in his right hand.

/-

**The Christmas Drabbles**

It's Christmas. Well, it's not actually Christmas- in her time, it's actually July, or maybe August, she can't quite remember- but the Doctor has brought her to Sweden twenty-three thousand years in her future where he swears they have the greatest Christmas celebrations.

And he's right. It's perfect.

Fluffy white snowflakes are falling, lightly dusting the darkening city, sparkling in the glowing Christmas lights.

They spend Christmas night in a quaint pub- well, that's what it looks like to her, but the Doctor makes sure to correct her assumptions. It's actually a Christmas restaurant, created and run purely during the holiday season. The best turkey and generous pints of spiced beer are given to them freely and they enjoy their time together, enjoy sitting hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder as they eat and drink and laugh and chat amicably with the families and couples surrounding them.

The night's crisp when they walk out of the restaurant. It's late, the sky is completely black, the ground is perfectly paved white with snow. Rose almost hates to walk through it and mar its perfection. But, at the same time, she loves the sound it makes as her shoes sink through it, crunching into flawless footprints.

He kisses her and she almost wishes she could be standing off to the side to watch it. To watch two people holding each other, lips locked passionately, hands stroking each other lovingly. To watch as the snow settles around their bodies and the dim light of the nearby buildings sets them off from the night sky. She thinks they must look wonderful together. The perfect couple.

He takes her hand to lead her back to the TARDIS and, as he does it, she thinks this might be his first attempt at romancing her.

His fingers brush over her temples once they've made it to the warmth inside. His mind strokes hers, his lips gently ease hers open, and she knows he's finally getting the hang of human courting rituals- as he puts it.

Because tonight he's taking her to bed. His hands are burning fire over her skin and his mind is driving her towards oblivion. And when their bodies are spent, he holds her against him, gently soothing her body and mind.

She can't help but think that everything is perfect.

/-

She hates it there. She hates the giant house and the stupid zeppelins, and their chips that taste all wrong. She hates the heat wave the tear created and she hates that it's a warm, green Christmas.

What she hates most is that it is Christmas.

It's been two months of waiting. Of hoping. Of crying. Of needing to pound on the walls until she mars their beauty with her crimson blood. Of wanting to kick and scream and trash her room. Of being too empty to dredge up the anger to try.

It's Christmas Eve and she's staring out of her window at no snow and flickering Christmas light. They're not celebrating this year. No Christmas tree. No Father Christmas decorations. No presents. Just a few lights outside to give the empty house some life.

She hates this world. It's duller, less alive. It's lonely. It's torn her away from the life she chose. And now- now it's making the happiest moment of her life hollow and painful. Held in her limp hands is the impossible news she had longed to hear months ago, before everything fell apart. But now that positive sign is such an ironic statement in her life. Or perhaps simply a paradox she doesn't want to face.

But at least she has Mickey, her only anchor in this turbulent new world. Between a father who's not her flesh and blood and a mother who's so close to pretending that nothing is different or wrong with their lives, she still has Mickey, still has that familiar face and a strong shoulder to lean on.

She appreciates him even more now that he's developed a sense of impeccable timing. He leaves when she wants him to, without a word passing her lips, and he arrives, unannounced, at exactly the right moments.

Like right now. He doesn't say a word as he sinks onto the bed next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulders. He doesn't even comment when his soulful eyes notice the white stick in her hands. He just holds her, like he's become accustomed to over the past weeks, and waits for her to be ready.

"He's really gone."

"You don't know that. He's the Doctor; genius, him. He'll find you."

"No he won't."

She's so empty. Somewhere between watching her grip loosening on that lever and watching the plus sign slowly materialize, she lost that hope that used to come so naturally to her naïve mind.

"Don't give up on him just yet."

She doesn't say anything, just watches as a lumbering, white zeppelin obscures her sight of the stars.

He's looking down again, studying the white stick and the pale red plus. It's not that large of a leap for him, she knows he's already figured it out. He doesn't comment, doesn't make accusations or demand any answers of her. He just waits. She loves him for that.

In her own time, she shifts against him, resting her head against his shoulder, still staring. "I'm pregnant."

"Yeah."

"It's his."

He doesn't answer. There's no reason to.

"You and mum would always ask if we were… I sort of lied about it. It's just that… it wasn't really like that, it wasn't. It was so much more. We were so much more."

She wants to cry. She wants to yell in frustration. He's gone and she's alone and now she can't even explain what he was to her.

"We were so close. We fit so perfectly together. When we were intimate, it was a lot more than sex." She debates telling him more, but decides that, while he might not want to know about it, she wants to explain. "Remember how I told you he's telepathic? Can read minds if he touches your temples?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well… when we… when we made love, he would do that to me. It was like… pouring out everything you felt for the other person. It was like electricity, literally."

"Sounds wonderful."

"It was."

They're quiet. Just watching. Just waiting. For what, she's not sure.

"We were trying to get pregnant."

She's so quiet, she wonders if he heard her. But then his hand squeezes her arm and his hold tightens around her.

"This should have been an exciting night."

"I'm so sorry, Rose."

"I'm keeping it," she says before he can ask. He wasn't going to. He knows her better.

He wants to say something to make her feel better about it. Wants to tell her that she'd better keep it, because he's coming for her. But he doesn't, he can't do that to her.

"Good," is all he says and the room is completely still.

Mickey just holds her as she holds the white stick, both watching as the white zeppelin moves out of view, revealing the starry night.

She had promised him forever, knowing it would end one day; but was surprised at how soon it came. And now she has him again, in a smaller package, a tiny version of him growing inside her. Maybe some things are really impossible, but not with the Doctor.


	2. First Christmas to Third

_Author's Note: _Sorry this one is so late. I thought that I had posted it... guess not. I hope you enjoy any way!

/-/-

**First Christmas to Third**

It's Christmas again. It's been a whole year since she sat quietly with Mickey, cradling the news of their child. It's been eleven months since he'd called to her, since Bad Wolf gave them one last chance to see each other, since she swallowed her words and hid the bitter sweet news that they had conceived a child. It's been four months since she'd finally given birth, a long hard twenty hours of labour, two months later than expected.

Her digital clock is blinding her with the knowledge that it's fast approaching six on Christmas morning. It she were still a little girl, she would already have been jumping on her mum's bed, tormenting her until she woke up and let her open her gifts. But she's older now and she's content to just lie in bed, gently stroking her son's back.

Jonathon Smith Tyler. Her gorgeous little boy with unruly tufts of dark hair and eyes that are quickly darkening into his father's.

It surprised her at first how little he slept, until she remembered that he is an alien, an alien whose father hardly slept at all. She was lucky if he snagged five hours in his first few months, and now he barely bothers with an hour a night. But he's certainly content to lay with her, to stay silently watching his mother sleeping at night.

He's such an easy child. Doesn't cry much, just fusses when he needs something. As long as she's around, he seems content to suck on a toy or let his dark, intelligent eyes roam around the room.

That's another thing about him she loves. He's so inquisitive. Taking in everything, enjoying every new experience he can get his podgy little fingers into. Especially now, with all the decorations out that light up his eyes and the new sweets his gran is constantly giving to him to munch on.

Some mornings she wants to just stay in bed where she can lay on her side, stroking Jon's back and smiling at him as he clutches his favourite blankie and blinks up at her. Because alone with him in bed, she can forget the world around them. She can pretend that a low humming is surrounding her and his father will be coming into the room soon, carrying breakfast or at least a steaming cup of tea. She can pretend that her mum isn't about to fuss over her, asking her thousands of questions about her health and her sleeping habits and her eating habits and the baby. She can pretend.

It's easier though, with Jon out there with her. Because he gives her a reason to smile. Because all she has to do is look at his bright eyes examining everything in his path or his tiny pale face that will one day soon be spotted with freckles or his mop of brown hair that she can tell will one day give her hell. Because his father is a part of Jon's personality already, and that makes it easier to smile.

/-

It's the first time that she thinks he might understand what's going on around him at one of these family parties. It's his second Christmas and he's just a little over a year old, but already he's so much more advanced than his peers.

She swears he hardly bothered with crawling because it made it too difficult to explore everywhere he wanted to explore; he just skipped right onto walking, surprising Jackie but not Rose at all.

He's even talking. Well, sort of talking. It wasn't long after his first Christmas that the words "dada" and "mummy" graced the Tyler estate. Within months his vocabulary had expanded and he was slowly mastering full sentences. She wasn't surprised, considering his father, that he had become the most talkative one year old she had ever known.

It's Christmas Eve and, as per their Friday tradition, she's taking him for his weekly trek around the city. Usually it's to somewhere historic, something interesting and cultural. She tells him stories of his father and her, their travels to those same places at some point in time. She doesn't always get the history right and she blames it mostly on alternate realities.

But today they're heading out to the Christmas market. She's already bought all the presents she needs, but she thinks he'll like it there.

Of course he does, there are thousands of things to look at and they spend minutes at a time looking over every one of them.

"Wha' this?"

He's got a tacky little figure in his hands and he's twisting his back awkwardly so he can look up at her. Rose just laughs at the Christmas ornament, "That's Father Christmas. He's for the tree, just like the ones we put on ours."

He seems to consider that for a while, running his tiny thumbs over the edges, taking in the scratchy, cheap material and flaking off some of the poorly glued sparkles. That's one thing he luckily didn't inherit from his father- he touches everything rather than licks.

"I like it."

"That's good," she laughs lightly.

"Can gran have it?" He arches his back again to look at her, hopeful brown eyes begging her to say yes. He did inherit that face, though, and she's never been able to say no. She suspects he knows that.

"You want that to be your Christmas present for gran?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. I'm sure she'll love it."

"Can I put paper on it?"

She's used to his odd ways of phrasing things, his thoughts too advanced sometimes for his vocabulary, but she still chuckles and nods, "You want to wrap it?"

"Wrap it."

"I think we can do that."

"Good."

/-/-

She can't remember who came up with the idea to do a Secret Santa this year between the family. It's very possible that they were all drunk at the time. It had probably been Jake.

But who thought of what doesn't really matter anymore because, nearly an hour into their week late Christmas party, Rose has decided that it's certainly fun enough to make a go of it every year.

She had picked her father and, despite how well they have begun to act around each other, she still didn't really know much about him. So she bought him a watch to replace the one that he had broken while battling aliens.

Her mother had gotten her name and- surprise, surprise- her mother doesn't really know her very well at all sometimes. Beneath the tissue paper is a deep red lingerie set.

"Mum!"

"What, hun? You haven't exactly been treating yourself lately."

Her mum still insists on seeing a man in her life. She doesn't need one. Not with her little man at her side.

"What did you get, mum?"

"Just some clothes," she hastily slips the top back on and squeezes her son to her side, glaring over his head at her mother. She just shrugs and turns her attention to Mickey.

"I think it's time to see who gets that awkwardly wrapped blue thing over there."

Mickey rolls his eyes at her, but smirks none-the-less. He isn't exactly the king of wrapping presents and he's never lived down the sloppiness of every present he has ever tried to present to the Tyler household. But, he tries to reason with himself, he picked a hard box this year.

"Well this one is for the littlest one here."

"Me!?"

Jon dashes forward, hugging his Uncle Mickey before plopping himself down next to him. Ever the diligent one in the family, the two year old takes his time examining the large box and the unevenly tapped sides. His fingers slip under the paper, ripping each side slowly before his entire hand is used to remove the tape on the back.

"A toolset," he smirks and Rose laughs lightly at the joke. Her boy, ever like his father, is always trying to tinker with things.

She helps her mother to clean up the crumpled wrapping paper once everyone has opened and thoroughly displayed their gifts. Mickey's helping Jon to undo all the twists and ties keeping him from exploring his newest tools and Pete and Jake are busily discussing something Rose assumes is very likely work related.

Rose ignores it all in favour of grabbing a cup of tea and heading back into the living room.

"Mummy! Look!"

Her body doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sight: a tiny version of her Doctor, standing proudly with his goofy grin and messy hair, his brand new screwdriver held possessively in his right hand.

"Wonderful," she manages, but the tears have started forming in her eyes and the memories are assaulting her mind. What she wouldn't give for the Doctor to be there with them, to see his son.

/-

She misses this. Misses the simplicity of Christmas traditions. She misses the days when it was just her and mum, way back when she was just a kid, back before her rowdy, boisterous teenage years.

That's why she's so excited that she finally managed to find a recognizable Christmas movie in this strange universe. Kermit the frog is on the telly, his little frog body clothed as Bob Scratchet in the Muppet's 'A Christmas Carol'.

Jon giggles and she smiles over at him. The Muppets weren't the rage here as they were in her universe, but well known enough to still make her favourite Christmas movie. Jon just thinks they're silly looking.

Rose shifts to readjust the pillow she's laying on so she can reach the mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of her. Best Christmas tradition she and her mother began when she was just a toddler. Absently she pulls out a marshmallow, now soaked with hot chocolate and half dissolved, and pops it into her mouth. Jon's sudden giggling fitdraws her eyes away from the particularly unexciting scene and onto the three year old_**.**_ He's watching her, not the telly, and that makes her smile. She dips her fingers back into her drink, just long enough to pull out another marshmallow, and brings it to his lips. He laughs even as his tongue darts out and tastes the sugary goodness.

She watches dark eyes as they follow her hand, calculating, dissecting every movement it makes. Her fingers force their way through plastic to find a plump marshmallow. She pops it into her mouth, barely registering the taste as she watches him think his options over. A fraction of a second later, his hand darts in and takes one of his own. He's smirking up at her as if he just accomplished the greatest feat ever.

This is what she's been missing for a long time. This wonderful normalcy that comes with Christmas and family.

She's not quite better, not quite through wishing she was back in her real universe, back with the Doctor. She's not quite ready to call this place home, not yet. But she's getting there. As long as it's her and Jon, she can make it.

/-/-


	3. Three More Christmases

Well here's the last of 'The Christmas Drabbles'. I hope you enjoyed.

I have a reunion story that's almost complete, just waiting on editing. It'll be up before too long. (I tell you the name of the story that I have come up with one yet).

/-/-

**Three More Christmases**

He's a little over three when the itch of standing still for so long has begun to truly burn her. When Rose admits this to her father, he just smiles and offers her all the time and all the money she needs to run off and explore.

And so they do.

They take maps and point to random countries and cities and head off. Everything is unplanned and unpredictable. Random and exciting. It's almost like it was. No danger. No aliens. Just adventure. And they both absolutely love it.

It becomes a game for them to learn as much as they can about the city they're visiting, to see who can recall the most facts on their way somewhere else. Jon usually wins- that's what she gets for competing with a Time Lord who has a photographic memory.

Sometimes, just to amuse him, they pretend that they're in a different time.

When they visit Rome, they pretend to be ancient Roman citizens, strolling leisurely through the Forum, picking up much needed dormice and casually looking over the slaves just captured. Jon decides that his father is a senator and soon they will be heading off for the country where their expansive villa resides.

When they find themselves in Barcelona, they pretend they're no longer on Earth, but the planet. And when a curious dog sniffs at Jon's feet, they both pretend that it's a true Barcelonan dog- a noseless creature.

When they go to France, they pretend they're in the future- the year 23,009. They pretend that the cars fly and sidewalks move and all the people around them are wearing the awkward looking technicoloured jumpsuits that will be popular in a couple thousands of years. Jon even points out the holographic adverts hanging over their heads, popping out at them.

Sometimes, Rose notices that Jon goes quiet and his eyes become wise and his voice grows older and he'll tell her things that he can't possibly know, and yet he does. She knows that he's seeing bits of the past or the future.

It's Christmas now. Jon's three months over four and they've been travelling for over a year. As much as he loves travelling and learning and exploring, he's ready to go home. So she's promised that they'll spend the holiday in Germany and then head for London.

But for tonight, they play with Nutcrackers and explore the Christmas market and laugh as they play in the falling snow. And then it happens, just as it always does, his happy little body grows serious and the light falls away from his face. She just waits for him. Sometimes he tells her what he noticed in the streams of time and sometimes he pretends as if it never happened.

He pretends this time and clutches her hand with sudden fervour, his face glowing and his eyes as bright as the Christmas lights.

/-

"It's Christmas! It's Christmas! It's Christmas! Wake up!"

She's been expecting such a rude awakening for the past fifteen minutes, just letting herself drift between sleep and awareness, listening for his pattering feet.

"What time is it?" she mutters through hair and pillows.

"Six o'clock sharp. Just like you said."

He's a child sized clock and she doesn't doubt his accuracy, nor his assurance that she had declared six o'clock late enough to be woken. She groans and forces her eyes open.

"Come on! It's time to open presents!"

"Give me five minutes to wake up and get ready."

"But mum!" he whines and she just glares at him, making sure to stop the rest of his complaints. He sits back on his heels and lets her find her way out of the sheets.

She works quickly as she washes her face and brushes her hair. She knows him well enough to know that he's counting every second with an accuracy a Swiss watch would be jealous of.

It's Christmas again. Christmas number seven since she's been stuck there. She still hates the holiday, but it's growing on her every year that Jon finds more excitement in the tradition. There's only one thing that would make her look forward to this morning. And it's not going to happen.

She knows that there are a few presents under the tree for her. A few from her mum and dad and one crisply wrapped present from Jon but she knows without ripping them open that none of them is the present she's been asking for for years. What she wouldn't give to walk down those stairs and see the TARDIS standing excitedly next to the tree, a huge blue bow on her front door.

She wouldn't bother to wait her turn, just rush down the last three stairs, tugging on the chain beneath her shirt as she went. The lock would come open and she'd push open the door and there he'd be. Her Doctor.

He'd be running into her arms, pulling her to him, spinning her around and they'd be laughing, just like they used to. It would be their old victory hug, their "we didn't die" moment.

Only it would be better than that. It would be perfect. The perfect reunion.

And Jon would stand off to the side, watching with that normal look of curious investigation. He'd know the face- she's shown him every picture she has of him. He would know that it was his father and his father's time ship right there in his living room.

Sometimes she pictures his reaction to their son differently. She likes to imagine that he never had any clue. That he had taken her at her word and moved past the thought without ever realizing she had lied to him. It seemed easier that way, that he hadn't lived with the pain and guilt and that, in that moment, he was too excited to care.

Sometimes he would know exactly who he was looking at. He would take the boy in, examining his thin build and seeing the same lanky teenager in the future. He would notice the unruly brown hair and the deep brown eyes and the light smattering of freckles. She would watch the pain and the guilt lift off his shoulders.

Either way, she imagined that he would pick the boy up, tossing him in the air and hugging the life out of him and Jon would return the favour. It would be perfect. The perfect Christmas. The two of them would curl up on the couch and watch as Jon meticulously opened every present and handed her whichever one had her name scrawled on it.

And later, after the living room was slightly picked up and brunch had been thoroughly enjoyed and mother and son had caught up the Doctor with every detail of their lives, he would take them outside and make it snow. Real snow. Big, fluffy flakes that Jon would run amuck through. He would hold her and the two would laugh and smile as they watched their son together.

But it's just a dream. A fantasy she knows better than to hope for.

So she doesn't hope for it, just takes a deep breath and moves on, joining her son by the tree and watching him meticulously open each present.


End file.
